


Conan Untamed

by kenchang



Series: Conan the Cimmerian [2]
Category: Conan - Robert E. Howard
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenchang/pseuds/kenchang
Summary: Conan meets a desperate and beautiful barmaid who barters a night of pleasure for a chance at vengeance.





	Conan Untamed

**Author's Note:**

> Do not expect much accuracy with the source material. It's only fan fiction after all. Also, I am nowhere near as good as Robert E. Howard.

Cait can feel the stranger's eyes on her. They have not left her since she served him his first goblet of ale. It is not the furtive glance of shy village boys nor the discomforting leer of lecherous drunkards. The barmaid is accustomed to the stares of men. Fair skinned with red, wavy hair of medium length, she is still very beautiful, in spite of a hard life that has left her thinner than she should be. But this stranger watches her with a different kind of gaze. There is confidence in his eyes, in his smirk. It is as if he is certain that he would have her naked and in his arms before the night is done.

"Him," Cait whispers to Erik, the even thinner, gray haired, gray bearded barkeep behind the counter, as she gestures towards her admirer with a tilt of her head, her hands currently busy with a platter of meat.

Erik squints with tired, old eyes. The stranger is a hulking barbarian with long, dark hair, suntanned skin, and an aura of danger about him. He is wearing a simple, green tunic, and fastened to his belt is a dagger that he doesn't even bother to conceal.

"Absolutely not," the old barkeep vehemently answers. "Besides, we cannae afford him. Your father spent nearly all we had on the last one. And look at what that got him."

"Perhaps I can barter with some other commodity," Cait suggests reluctantly.

Erik's old eyes nearly fall out of their sockets in shock and horror.

"Nay! I forbid it!", he nearly yells.

"Ye forbid it?!", the barmaid bitterly yells back. "What right have ye?! After ye let them take me father without a fight?!"

She angrily shoves the platter into the old man's stomach, and the barkeep barely manages to stop the meat from falling. Cait stomps across the wooden floorboards towards the stranger's table.

"Ye been starin' at me all night," she tells the man.

"And it has taken you forever to do something about it," he replies in a deep voice. "Not that I have tired of watching you."

"I am Cait, daughter of Duncan. This inn belongs to me family," the woman introduces herself, seemingly unimpressed by his words. "What be your name, stranger?"

"I am Conan of Cimmeria."

"Conan of Cimmeria, I am yours for the night to do with as you wish for as many times as you please. I ask only for one favor in return."

Conan is taken aback by her forthrightness. But only momentarily.

"Hah!", he exclaims. "Perhaps you overestimate yourself, girl. And you think me too desperate."

He is about to rise from his seat when Cait abruptly slams her palms on the table.

"Ye misunderstand, sir," she implores him. "I be the desperate one here."

#

Naked under the blankets in one of the rooms upstairs, a satisfied grin on his face, the back of his head resting on his palms, Conan asks, "So why does a barmaid wish me to take the life of the thane Marcus?"

Lying on her side, her back to him, Cait answers somberly, "He had me father executed. Right in the middle of the village square."

Conan's brow furrows. "I thought the old barkeep, who looks upon you so protectively, was your father."

Cait slightly turns her head. "Nay. That's Erik. Me husband."

The Cimmerian suddenly breaks into laughter so loud that the barmaid worries the entire inn might hear it.

"I shall never comprehend the mind of the so called civilized man," Conan says, his laughter abating. "Were he a Cimmerian, he'd have ripped my head off. And then he would have proceeded to beat you to death with it."

"Did I nae mention we were desperate?"

"Yes, yes. Very well. I'll slay the thane for you. The angels will not mourn the death of one more politician."

She faces him now, urgency in her green eyes, and says, "Swear it to your gods if ye have any."

"Crom?! He does not concern himself with the affairs of man. He gives us strength at birth. He cares not how we use it after."

"Sir, I must insist. Ye have already taken of me what you want. I need some guarantee that ye will fulfill your part."

"You speak as though you took no pleasure from the act," Conan quips. "Yet the sounds you made would suggest otherwise."

Cait's lightly freckled face turns red. She swallows hard and meekly responds, "We had an agreement nonetheless."

"Fine," the Cimmerian sighs. "By Crom, I will slay thane Marcus."

Then Conan turns to face Cait, staring into her eyes, a sly smile on his lips. It is the same roguish look he had been giving her all night, and the woman feels a shiver that is frightening, yet exciting at the same time.

Without a word, the barbarian slowly pulls away the blanket, uncloaking the barmaid's naked form. Cait almost instinctively covers her bare, firm breasts with her arms. Conan leans closer, their lips almost touching.

He boldly and mischievously whispers, "After I'm done with you, you will take no pleasure in your decrepit husband's touch, nor the touch of any other man for that matter, ever again."

Like a panther devouring prey, he ravenously kisses her lips. And as Cait surrenders herself to the ecstasy, closing her eyes, wrapping her arms and legs around his powerful frame, wantonly moaning in his mouth, a single tear rolls down her cheek, for she fears the truth in the barbarian's words.

#

Lord Marcus, thane of Camford, has made no effort to conceal his corruption nor his greed. For while his constituent's live in poverty, he surrounds himself in opulence. A mere minor baron, yet his castle, an impressive building with majestic towers protected by high, thick walls, is fit for a king.

Under the cover of a moonless night, Conan, perched on a thick branch near the top of a tall tree, readies his longbow. He had studied the stronghold's defenses much earlier, even before he met the beautiful and desperate Cait. Conan had heard of Camford's wealthy lord from a nearby village, and had come specifically to rob the nobleman.

There is only one longbowman stationed at the top of each wall. Perhaps they believe the steep barricades unclimbable. But Cimmerians, well accustomed to scaling the perilous mountains of their dark, forest-locked homeland, are exceptional climbers. And Conan is a particularly exceptional Cimmerian.

With eyes as sharp as an eagle's, he takes aim at the guard at the top of the nearest wall. He lets loose his arrow at an arc to compensate for the great distance. The guard is near silently struck down. Then Conan watches and listens, waiting to see if the man's death went unnoticed.

Content, he slowly and carefully descends the tree, and stealthily makes his way accross the tall grass towards the unguarded wall.

#

Scaling the wall is not nearly as easy as Conan expected. The footholds are few, shallow, and so far apart that at times, he has to take a dangerous leap from one to another. He manages nonetheless. It is not the most difficult climb he has ever attempted. And by the time he reaches the top, though the muscles in his arms and legs ache, he still has plenty of strength left.

The barbarian enters the building through a door, using the dead longbowman's key, and descends a series of stone steps. With his keen senses, the darkness does not even hinder his progress. This is not the first such castle he has dared to intrude. Since they are mostly similar in design, Conan is able to approximate the location of the treasury.

He halts abruptly when he sees the faint glow of a torch accompanied by the sound of soft, lazy footfalls climbing the steps. The barbarian unsheathes his dagger and crouches, like a cobra coiling right before it strikes.

The guard drags his tired feet up the steps, torch in hand, his eyes weary from the monotony of daily work that leads to nothing further. The barbarian does not suffer from such tedium. The second he sees the guard, the Cimmerian leaps and tackles the surprised watchman! They crash onto a landing. Conan immediately covers the guard's mouth with a large hand. The watchman's frightened screams are muffled, as he is stabbed repeatedly in the stomach! It takes over ten stabs with the dagger before his body finally ceases its futile struggles. Cruelly, even in death, his eyes do not close.

Conan wipes the blood off his dagger on the dead man's uniform. He sheathes the weapon and acquires the guard's sword. It is not a longsword, which he prefers, but it will do. He considers disguising himself in his victim's uniform and helmet as well. He decides against it however, as his darker complexion would easily give him away.

#

The sentry assigned to the treasury squints into the gloom at the end of the hallway. Something seems to have moved in the darkness, but he is not entirely sure. He grips the hilt of his sword just in case. But as he takes a wary step forward to investigate, an arrow shoots from out of the shadows, striking him in the chest and knocking him off his feet! He is dead before his body hits the floor.

Conan moves out of the shadows. He searches his latest victim for the keys to the door, and curses under his breath when he does not find any. Again, he looks around and listens for other soldiers nearby. Having neither heard nor sensed any, he decides to risk smashing the lock with the sword. And with his mighty arm, it only takes one swing.

Conan enters the room and smiles widely at the sight of large coffers brimming with gold coins and an assortment of jewelry. He can just take what he can and leave the village right now. Forget poor Camford, its corrupt thane, and his agreement with the beautiful barmaid. He is tempted to do as much. But in spite of being many atrocious things, thief, reaver, slayer, Conan is a man of his word.

He exits the treasury to find the master bedroom.

#

Lord Marcus is roused from his bed. The intruder made no noise, but a rich man with many enemies does not sleep soundly.

"Come out of the shadows and tell me your name," the thane commands.

Conan is surprised that his prey wakes in spite of his every precaution. But he is even more surprised by the lack of fear in the older man's face.

"I am Conan of Cimmeria," the interloper answers, raising his sword to strike. "Now you know whose name to give once your ancestors ask who sent you to them."

Conan sees the large fist from the corner of his eye. He is too late to evade it, but he manages at least to turn his head, rolling with the punch to abate much of its power! The barbarian spins away, facing his opponent, sword poised. The corner of his eyebrow has been cut, and the blood dripping from it hinders his vision.

"Conan of Cimmeria, meet my bodyguard, Barracus," Marcus proudly introduces the man.

Barracus is a heavily bearded and heavily muscled man, even larger than Conan, with skin as dark as the night. His head is shaved save for a narrow strip of thick hair that goes down the center. Hanging from his waist down is a thick garment embroidered with the symbols and colors of a distant tribe. And he wears a steel gauntlet in each massive hand. His appearance is indeed intimidating, but his eyes have no ferocity in them. They are as dull as the eyes of every guard that Conan has encountered in this castle.

The Cimmerian's blue eyes, on the other hand, blaze with the savagery of a jungle predator. He roars as he leaps and swings his sword down! Barracus easily blocks the attack with a steel arm guard, then counterattacks with a vicious body blow! Conan buckles as the wind is knocked out of him. Were it not for his developed abdominals, his internal organs would have been ground to pulp.

Still, he keeps his wits about him enough to dodge the next punch that would have crushed his skull like a hammer to a melon! But as he does, he loses his footing and falls to one knee. Barracus seizes the opportunity and lunges to finish the fight! His arms are longer. But with the sword, Conan has the advantage in reach.

The barbarian thrusts his blade just as Barracus throws a punch! The bodyguard's fist falls just short of Conan's forehead. While half the Cimmerian's sword is buried deep into the larger man's chest.

Barracus coughs out blood. He staggers backward. As the blade is withdrawn, even more blood, thick and dark red, erupts from his gaping wound. When he collapses heavily on the floor, a look of confusion is left frozen in his face. And to Conan's own confusion, even after the death of the bodyguard, there is still not a hint of fear nor panic in the thane's serene countenance.

Marcus rises from his bed, applauds the intruder, and says, "Well done. You're hired."

"What?", Conan asks in puzzlement.

"Well, after such a brutal display of skill, I would be a fool not to hire you. All you have to do is give me the name of the simpleton that tasked you to kill me. In fact, I'll triple whatever he's paying you if you accept my more than generous offer."

The Cimmerian smirks. "Why would I? So I can end up like this poor sod?" He kicks the bodyguard's corpse for emphasis. "Is this not the last assassin who surrendered Duncan the taverner to you in exchange for employment?"

Marcus does not answer. The color drains from his face, his body trembles, and he swallows hard. Fear finally takes hold of him. Conan sees this and smiles in satisfaction.

The barbarian raises his blood stained sword and declares, "All your wealth cannot tame this beast."

He brings the sword down, cleaving the thane's skull right down the center nearly all the way to the nose! As Lord Marcus' limp body falls back into his bed, several of his remaining guards rush into the bedroom, swords drawn and ready.

"Ho!", Conan greets them confidently. "You can be loyal dogs. Attempt to avenge your master's death and join him in the afterlife. Or we can divide his vast fortune among us. What say you?"

#

Conan chooses the late thane's finest horse in the stable. With a satchel full of gold coins, he rides out of Camford. He actually has the smallest share of the spoils, as a traveler cannot afford to be so encumbered. Yet he has no qualms about it. He had done this more for adventure than greed. There was talk among the guards of returning the riches to the people. The barbarian did not care enough to wait for their final decision.

He does not return to Duncan's inn to inform his daughter of Lord Marcus' death. It is a small village. The news will reach her soon enough. And when it does, Conan thinks it best that she celebrate in her husband's arms rather than in his.

Besides, were he to inform them of his success himself, Cait's milksop of a husband might be so impressed, he'd give his wife to the Cimmerian as a reward. And the thought makes Conan roar with laughter once more.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
